Cease Fire
by Surferosa
Summary: In a cheap motel in Iraq, a girl shares a mission and a bed with a man who has no morals and no god. Martin Keamy / OFC. One shot. NC-17 for sex and violence


Disclaimer: I don't own Martin Keamy. *sigh*

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A tune from 1940 plays from the room nearby, the music hums through the wall, playing smoothly in Katherine's ear. She listens to the words, singing them in her heart: _"I don't want to set the world on fire."_

It's ironic to hear something as civilized as a retro pop song in this place, but then again she tells herself that they are sleeping in a land that seems to be stuck in some other time period, this must be what the retro future feels like.

Keamy sleeps beside her, naked and statuesque on the mattress. He sleeps completely nude, hardly even bothering to cover with a sheet. That's the only way for him to ever fall sleep – feral, primitive. The blue moonlight shades on his strong, large frame, painting his smooth back in tunes of grayish blue, until he looks as if he was carved in stone.

She watches him sleep, her fingers move in the air, roaming the outlines of his firm body. From the valley of his back to his tight muscular buttocks and the hard back of his thighs. A small frown is engraved between his brow and he pouts his lips almost sweetly. It persists to surprise her how adorable he looks in his sleep. Who would imagine this man is a professional killing machine? For a man who killed more than he could remember, he sleeps like a baby.

She shifts closer to him on the mattress, observing him with her curious eyes. Those small hours of the night are far too precious to waste them on sleep. Those are the only moment when he belongs to her. No fights, no wars, just Keamy…naked on his stomach, sleeping by her side.

The song continues to play through the wall, humming softly in her ear. She sings to herself voicelessly while reaching to stroke Keamy's lower back. She's severely careful in order no to wake him.

_"…I just want to start a flame in your heart." _

"I would set the world on fire."

She hears his voice, tickling her ears whimsically. It sneaks into the atmosphere like a killer spider, disturbing her illusion of peace and making her once again insecure and threatened. His eyes are still shut, his face cold as stone. She finds herself confused, unaware if she is delusional, or if he is speaking from his sleep until finally a hoarse groan escapes from his lips, and he turns onto his back. She glares at him, semi-terrified, as if she just woke up the heartless giant, while he stretches his long form and his muscles flex. The strings of the mattress squeak and shudder beneath them as he moves heavily on the bed.

In oppose to him, she hardly takes any space on the bed at all. She sits curled up against the bedposts, her arms folded on her knees. She glares at him, at the space he takes beside her and his large feet as they peek out and hang in the air. They could have gotten a better hotel, with bigger, cleaner beds, but he insisted to stay close to their destination. He doesn't care as long as he can get some sex and some sleep.

"I am one of those people, you know, I want to see the world burn." There is a slight playfulness in his husky voice, but his face is blank as he stretches his hand to the nightstand and grabs the crumpled pack of cheap Arabian cigarettes.

She looks at him quietly as he lights a cigarette and puffs into the air. He is by all means beautiful; so much that the muscles of her face become strained as she sees that same annoying smile of his. Some days she almost feels like slitting his throat. That rage has been swirling inside her since the day he marched into her life.

"I prefer you asleep," she mumbles to herself, hugging her legs closer to her body and pressing her chin to her knees.

He hears her words and turns his face in her direction, blowing out smoke in her direction and then offering her a small icy glance. The fierceness in his eyes makes the hair on the back of her neck bristle with an unpleasant shiver.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, Kathy Sue McFlarne, you want it too." He speaks back, letting his eyes observe her body for the first time since he woke up. His eyes scan her from head to toe, as if she is any different from before. The black chemise she is wearing rests gracefully on her body, outlining her natural curves, awakening his desire as if it ever sleeps. He wonders why she does that, goes out of her way to try and grab his attention, when he is more than willing to take her in any state she is, willing or not.

He dusts the ashes onto the floor and takes another long blow from the cigarette. His sight is locked on her exposed thighs now; admiring the way the silk fabric rides up and shows her smooth skin. Casually he reaches his hand to his crotch and strokes his already erect penis. She parts her lips with slight shock, her cheek becoming pink with pure embarrassment. Martin Keamy has no god and even though he made her do so many nasty things with him, things she never imagined herself doing for anyone. He can still easily provoke embarrassment in her.

"We're nothing alike." She corrects him, holding a strained face, while struggling to keep her eyes on his beaming, pleased expression. He begins to laugh; laughter rolling out into the room, dry, short and cruel. He stops laughing and throws the cigarette onto the floor, leaning toward Katherine with an incubus leer. She slightly flinches, looking at him with a small frown while he reached to cup her chin with his free hand. "Right, you just so happen to be here with me, in the end of civilization hotel, because you are a saint, you are saving life."

Aggravated, she pulls her face away from his touch, backing off almost too violently yet trying to keep her face cold and blank. This is his favorite type of abuse, getting beneath people's skin. She's seen him do that to his enemies, and he'd be damned if he didn't do it to her.

"You and I both know I am only here because you want me here, Keamy." She attempts to fight back, answering with the sweetest sarcastic smile. She hopes to see something in his face, a lid twitching nervously, anger, discomfort. Yet instead he smiles back, and places his hand on her knee, leaning over and invading her personal place "Woman are not very hygienic in here, and a boy do need his toy." He winks at her, making her feel so cheap and empty. A professional assassin like him knows exactly where to aim in order to injure.

She looks at him hurt and infuriated, locking her jaw tightly and clamping her lips till tiny little white stripes appear. This shouldn't get to her, she shouldn't allow it, but she breaks almost every time, much to his delight. The anticipation in his eyes is almost childlike, just to push the buttons and watch the world as it blows away.

"Screw you Keamy." She hisses hatefully and turns away, attempting to slip out of bed. There is an instant pain at her scalp, and she feels herself being tugged back violently while a blood chilling shrill fills the room. It takes a few seconds to realize it came from her own throat. Keamy has a fistful of her hair, and he yanks her back onto the bed, holding her against him.

"Screw me huh? You can do better than that, rookie." He speaks against her throat; the stubble on his chin grazing the tender flesh of her neck, leaving a red rash.

"Let me go." She demands angrily, panting with pain as his tight grasp threatens to rip the hair from her head. Between strangled yelps and her futile attempts to dig her nails in his thighs, he grows harder, poking at the middle of her back while he breathes heavily in her ear.

She doesn't know if she should laugh or cry.

"You want to go back to your New York apartment dear? Pretend you haven't killed anyone? That I am not deep inside your veins?" he asks her viciously and then finally lets her go, just to pull her beneath him as he climbs to lie upon her. He mounts her like a beast, his large masculine body dwarfing her small figure while she curses, and writhes rebelliously. Her hands reach to his face, the sharp nails leaving small bleeding cuts, yet he is not even moved, he have been injured far worst in the past. He doesn't even bother restraining her.

Weary from a lost battle, she finally pauses and glares at him with hatred as he flicks his tongue upon his dry lips and holds her down to the mattress. His eyes shine with silver cruelty and his sinister nature. The same seed of destruction he seeks to slip deep inside her. She holds her hands against her chest defensively, trying to resist his dark charms and reserve her right to breathe.

"I'm intrigued." He says to her moving a hand to stroke some hair away from her face, she groans with protest, pushing her head against the pillow and looking at him hatefully. "Do you remember their faces? Do they haunt you in your dreams?" he asks her evilly, a dark Cheshire grin smeared on his face. She chews the inside of her cheeks, holding herself from biting back, knowing very well there will be consequences, painful and fierce.

He leans onto her, pressing his weight onto her chest, controlling the amount of air that will enter her lungs. "Tell me," he demands "does it kill you to long for me the way you do, knowing I'm a monster? Do you die a little every time you give yourself to me?"

There is pure anger in her eyes, much for his joy. The soft spots are being pressed one by one, her affection toward him – the one thing she can't kill, and he is bringing it out to the open, stripping her of her armor.

"I hope Ben Linus will slit your throat apart." She spits out hatefully.

There is a terrorizing silence in the room, so strained that she can hear a strange hum coming from outside and Keamy heartbeat beginning to exhilarate as he becomes furious. He glares at her thoughtfully, closing his mouth and swallowing the dryness in his mouth but then he smiles thankfully.

The metal bed posts shudder behind her head as he takes her thin wrists and slams them against the rusting bars. The entire bed shudders, tiny pieces of white paint peel from the bars and fall gently onto the pillow and onto her hair. There isn't much pain, he is considerably gentle with her, preferring fear and intimidation in order to dominant her seditious nature. It never seems to work, the tougher he gets, the more mess and trouble she attempts to cause later.

She screams out his name, and squirms beneath his heavy body, making sure she'll be heard all the way across the hotel and outside in the streets, as if anyone ever care how women are being treated in this god forsaken hellhole. Keamy laughs at her face, probably thinking the same and enjoying the friction of her helpless battle beneath him, but then he lifts his upper body, switching to hold her wrists with one hand while peering at the floor. His eyes scan for something urgently while Katherine continues to curse at him and kick her feet at the mattress angrily as if possessed. The sheet drops to the floor, piling up near the ashes of smoke and empty beer bottles.

He finds his black leather belt and lifts it in front of Kathy's, the coarse material waves softly, almost looking like silk.

"Don't you fucking dare, you fucking asshole!" She screams at him and tries to tug her hands free while he wraps the black leather belt around her wrists and begins binding her meticulously.

"You keep making all that annoying sound, Katherine, and I'll sell you to an Iraqi Sheikh." He warns her with a devilish grin, and lean closer to her frowning face "I bet I'll get a nice slice of cash for a tiny white chick like you, even though we both know you are damaged goods."

She grunts angrily, still attempting to release her hands from the tight knot, bringing her elbows almost close enough to hit his head. At moments like this she knows it all has been one big mistake, approaching to him that night, the moment she showed him a single drop of interest he turned her into his possession, because that's what he does, he collects those who would benefit him.

But then it's Keamy's naked body against hers, and his stubbles against the tender skin of her neck, and she can't but breathe out with pleasure. This hardened killing machine has a deliciously addicting touch and his small lingering kisses leave her baffled and dazed.

He roams the side of her body with his large coarse hands, while trailing his lips down the exposed parts of her chest, his stubbles imprinting her skin, claiming her. Her body responds to him immediately, wriggling beneath his large muscular frame, hips and pubic bone meets with his hard shaft, forming that same damp triangle at her panties. Her core swells and tingles for him, her body giving in and surrendering in more than one way.

"This is… convenient " he murmurs against her pale flesh, gesturing to her bound hands, while his own free palms descends down the curves of her body. He makes sure to leave his mark on her, pressing his rough finger to her skin. If he could brand her, he would – to make sure everyone will know his territory, after all she did call him a dog more than once. She attempts to give a small struggle, but the moans coming out of her pink lips give her away, helpless as a small fly, captivated on a spider's web, she arches and closes her eyes, flushing red the lower his hands descend.

Martin Keamy knows 79 methods of torture, bondage and sex is one of them and among his favorite games. There are just endless things he could do to her, as she lays submissive and conquered beneath him, as sweet and pleasing as unwrapped gift and he will unveil her, he will rip her apart if he has to.

The leather of his black belt burns at her wrist as she tugs to be set free. If she stopped moving so restlessly it wouldn't hurt, but she can't help but struggle, never submissive to the bone which is maybe that's why he still keeps her alive. Images of the dark humid jungles floats into her mind, she remembers her hands bound again, this time with coarse dry ropes. Keamy had a gun pointed to the back of her head, and they stood there for an hour when he was trying to decide if the execute her or keep her for fun. She can still remember the smell of the jungle, mingled with the scent of his delicious sweat.

Her thoughts tear away from her once his tongue meets with her chest, a high pitched hiss follows from between her lips. Keamy entices her with his lips and tongue, kissing down her chest and then the thin silk of her nightgown, his wet slippery tongue leaves wet stains on the black material while his stubbles tickle her breasts.

Even an assassin can be graciously tender when he wants to, yet she makes no mistakes to think tonight is one of those nights. As playful and gentle his tongue is, the insidious are his teeth. He captivates her erect nipple between his fangs and nips at it mischievously. She cries out instantly, jerking her body violently yet his forbidding hands pin her hips down while he ticks his tongue.

"I don't know why you keep fighting me…" he speaks, his voice a deep haunting growl, "but I like it." His right hand slips smoothly between her thighs, forcing them apart while she groans with protest and squirms beneath his with what seems like panic.

Falling in love with him was a terrorizing revelation, it taught her she is just as wrong and perverted as he is, for all those people he killed and all the fucked up stuff he did, the only thing that mattered in the end of the day was that he was still alive and that for a moment there they eyes met.

She knew then she had to leave.

"I am going back, I don't belong here." She tells him in hoarse voice, trying hard to keep him away from his ultimate purpose, from what he was born to do. _"I was made for violating you"_ she remembers him whispering in her ear. Her battle is futile from the moment she subjected to him she belonged to him.

"You belong here as much as I do." He corrects her, planting one tender kiss on the tendon of her neck and stroking his hand up between her thighs, climbing deliciously to the radiating heat of her cunt. "You are my whore of Babylon." He laughs darkly and pushes his fingers against the wet fabric of her panties. She bites her lip, preventing a sharp moan from escaping into the air, yet her body is treacherous, it ignores her own rules of restrain and plays to Keamy's need. He feels her muscles trembling beneath him and her pelvis and stomach ripples slow and smooth. An incubus smirk adorns his face and he leans to lick her jaw line perversely, concurrently circling her clit with his thumb. Concealing herself never helped, he found her and stripped her to the bone, showing her as what she is, his sweet oxymoron; a juicy fruit in the middle of desert, every time she'll just as much step outside his eyesight he will bring her back dragging her by the hair.

There is no telling when or if he would let her go, she suspects he will tire with her one way or another and dispose of her. Martin Keamy is a man of limited emotions – friendship is loyalty, love is desire, and even those who call themselves his friends he doesn't trust, and knowing that hurts.

She tugs at the belt one more time, and then pushes her head against the pillow, sighing with exhaustion and staring at stain on the ceiling. "I hate you." She hisses out, lying through her teeth as sweat begins to gather on her forehead and chest. She feels flushed and slick and ready for him, her chest heaves, her small breasts rising up as she breathes, her nipples showing out through the silk of her nighty. Keamy kicks her legs apart with his knee, shoving himself between her smooth thighs, he brings his hand to squeeze one breast roughly and reaches his other hand between them. Katherine moans softly, closing her eyes as he inflicts pain on her breast.

He grasps at his cock, stroking it roughly and squeezing the hardened shaft between his long fingers. "Look at me." He demands and then quickly let go of her breast, bringing his fingers to catch her chin and turn her head to him. "I like to see the look in your eyes when I conquer you." He taunts her.

She opens her eyes and looks at him. But only in order to emphasis her hatred, narrowing her eyes and pouting her lips angrily. "I hate you." She spits out, the rage in her eyes intensifying.

Keamy growls with excitement, squeezing his cock harder and pushing it against her groin. "Hate me more, sweetheart! You're making me harder." He growls and reaches to quickly slip her panties aside. She gasps with shock, digging her fingernails into her own palms as he penetrates her eagerly, there is no preparation and in merely a second his entire succulent cock parts her folds and fills her warm, lush canal.

Her red velvet walls wrap around him tightly, clenching his width as if trying to suck him deeper inside. He grunts in her ear, pressing his hairy chest onto hers and pulling her long legs around his waist to gain a deeper penetration. She cries out, overwhelmed, instantly locking her legs around his lower black and bucking her hips against him while he remains still. She can feel how deep he is inside her, his tendons and his ridges, throbbing with desire inside her.

He presses one hand to the pillow beneath her head and begins to thrust in and out forcefully, his cock glistening and wet with her arousal yet the friction is great, she is swollen and taut, not to mention small as the rest of her. The pleasure of driving into her almost makes him lost traces of humanity. It's rare to find a good clean woman in the places he works.

She closes her eyes again, arching back every time he slams right back into her, his thrust her long, he pulls himself almost completely outside and then all the way back into her aroused, sensitive cunt, filling her to the hilt. Beneath them the bed shifts loudly, the metal strings shrieks with the heated movement of their joint bodies. Katherine's cries of pleasure turn into desperate screams, somewhere in their devilish dance he can hear her beg for him not to stop and fuck her like an animal. Sometimes he thinks she wants everyone to hear them, and her screams indeed feed his own lust.

He complies, squeezing every drop of effort in his muscles, groaning with amazement as she continues to become tighter and hotter around him. She clutches him in a death grip, her ankles locked tightly against his muscular ass, he is so deep inside her that she can feel his taut testicles slapping against her, and genuine pain deep within her core, but she wants more, she wants to be drilled till she is gasping for air and his seed is spilling into her.

Just then, Keamy reaches to unleash her hands and she instantly send them to grip at his flexed behinds, in an attempt to force him deeper than possible. "Please." She gasps, as they both press sweaty and desperate against one another He is aching, holding back as much as possible while his cock drills in and out of her quickly now, stroking every aroused bit, she cries out increasingly and he knows very well it will only last a little bit. Eventually her muscles become so taut that he cannot move any longer, screaming together, they both explode with amazing ecstasy, pushing against one another one last time to fulfill their primitive need.

She still has her nails sunken in his behinds, while he gasps against her neck, his body still shaking from the incredible thrill and his cock still jerking inside her throbbing canal, spilling his semen between her milking walls.

She braces herself against him, leaning her cheek against his strong shoulder and relaxing blissfully. She can feel his heart beating next to hers, and the small groans forming in his chest. But he doesn't allow it to last. Eventually he lifts himself by his strong hands and pulls himself out without even giving her a thoughtful glare. He climbs out of the bed and naked as he is, he walks to the shower. She remains spent on the bed, folding her knees and returning her glare to the stain on the ceiling. Her body still burns from him. Every trace of him sunken into her body; sweat, saliva, semen. She wonders why he hurries to wash her away from him so quickly.

He returns after few minutes, with a worn olive green towel around his hips. "Tomorrow we wake up at 5Am." He tells her "Sayid and Linus are heading to the city and who knows, your sniper skills might come in handy this time." He explains with a bit of mockery in his voice. She rolls her eyes and rolls to lie on her belly so she won't have to look at him. "Sure, it only gives up 3 hours of sleep but whatever…"

"It's not my fault you can't sleep." He murmurs and yawns tiredly, feeling his eyes shutting down. "Just be a good girl, and leave Linus alive, shoot him in the shoulder or the leg, but don't get him killed, understood?"

"Whatever." She replies bored, if only he knew how much she doesn't care about the mission.

Keamy leans back against the pillow, yawning again and then drifting to sleep, while in the other room, that damn old song plays again, and she glares at nothing, knowing she won't be able to sleep.


End file.
